Appetite for Destruction

Before reality had, unfortunately, came barging through his door, Frank had been enjoying the warmth of the body next to him. Yelling, shoving and somehow he’d ended up outside, breeches on clutching his violin in a wind of confusion. All until, of course, the gentleman calling let steel ring loud and clear.

Well… fuck.

He had to credit the man, however, since beforehand Frank had no idea how nimble at escape he was. Not only escape, but managing to pick up a disguise and lose the man in the process without losing.. anything than half his clothes? Well, now that was a useful talent. Aquiring on his liberation a new cloak, some clean breeches and a rather grotesque mask, which unfortunately covered a good portion of his face. A crime against nature, surely. With his condition, however, Frank took a wrong turn, barrelling into a group, becoming caught up in the wake of their movement towards some odd looking archway in the short distance. Once crossing over, the radical change in scenery and location caught him completely off guard. He held no familiarity about this place, nothing. A thrill of excitement rang through the bards' spine over the possibilities waiting to be discovered.

Wasting no time and with his instrument in tow, the man found his way easily into a group of musicians. Quickly being brought up to speed over the network, now fully open to traverse over the great distances. Arlathan itself was a wonder, yet always he followed the music, his lifeblood, quickly befriending a rambunctious lot who he’d argue were more rogue than a horde of bards. It mattered diddly-squat in the grand scheme of things. Instead, he wrote some new pieces, inspiration falling from the new territory being discovered. Meanwhile, the lingering question of home, at least for the elves, had been answered. So what of him? There was a longing for home, but it wasn’t for Antiva. Regardless of the deep affection he held for the homeland, he openly disapproved of its current course.

All Frank could sense was that one's true home was a paradise of sorts and with the gaggle of musicians he’d now found himself in cahoots with, working and playing with his melodies and lyrics, soon had the creatives in a buzz. Mildly distracted from his quest of discovery, he deigned to continue the use of his disguise, the mask finding recognition along with his singular stage name.

A small rabble of musicians, they could hold a modest enough crowd, but since their masked figure entered, more lingered, words of praise and equal scandal were passed around. Under his facade, all Frank could do was grin as fingertips drew and plucked notes in the beginning. Holding the instrument unnaturally until a beat carried by a dwarf and a few makeshift cans joined the violinist. His bow drew along the horsehair strings to smoothen the tune, throwing in a tremor of vibrato because he could.


Imagine Frankie's folky Version

There was music playing, a new band of musicians had wandered into Arlathan for the festivities. Eularia slipped out of their rented home first, barefoot and laughing as she danced down the stairs. She paused at the bottom, turned to wait. They'd argued early in the morning, he wanted to glamour her, she didn't want that. He just wanted to protect her, she (like always) knew she didn't need that. They compromised, though. She allowed him to hide her condition for a few more days; until they returned to Antiva from their trip. Acceptable, she agreed. They'd announce it to the court a few weeks after their return, when she could no longer hide it.

And she was all smile as she waited at the bottom of the stairs, though she was not there for long. The music and the airs of this place were calling to her; she wanted to spend all of her time dancing. A hobby she did not exercise enough previously; bar special outings. She'd once danced to earn her living, until dance fell to the wayside of her responsibilities. But being able to dance so often over the course of this festival was freeing. She almost wanted to stay in Arlathan and never leave. Not that that was possible.

Eularia weaved through people, until she came to an empty space of earth, toes curling into the soft moss. Her favorite way to dance was alone; it reminded her of her days earning her keep in tavern after tavern. Which is why she did not wait for her lover to join her. He'd join her, or most likely, he'd watch. She wasn't certain he could see where she was, with the people gathering to hear the music. It wasn't her first concern, though, as she listened to the beat the musicians were tending.

Tapping to the beat with one foot, she glanced over her shoulder, swaying in place. She was a loose dancer, with a heavy preference for Antivan folk dance. She knew some dance styles native to the Marches, too, but she almost always fell back to her roots. From tapping her foot to twirling in place, she settled into the early steps of an easy-going, fluid dance. And as she let herself get lost in the music and dance, she grinned towards Magnus.

Are you just going to watch? Tell me if I misstep, then. Her telepathic comment was not accusatory, but rather, amused. She believed he was not as certain of his ability to dance on a whim, as she was. She just didn't care if she made a fool of herself, it was all about having fun. Though there was a certainty that she moved her body with, that made every movement seem deliberate, even if it wasn't.

Magnus followed Eularia as she slipped effortlessly through the crowd, her steps as light as the carefree tune enchanting the crowd.  Something about the music felt familiar, though he couldn't place the source.  

She'd always moved as if it was music that ran in her veins, her steps both fluid and exuberant. Watching her, he yearned to dance alongside, to mirror her steps, blending her improvised caper with his own in a way that made it appear they were two parts of the same choreographed whole.  But she was the Queen, and he her advisor.  A compromise that had been made to prevent as many whispers as they could...at least until they'd shared the news with the few that mattered most.  

[color=#7CD98A]"I intend to watch, to drink in this vision that has been nothing but a dream for more years than I can count.  I cannot take my eyes off of you...not for a second.  You are perfection."[/color]  The idea of her missing a step was inconceivable.  If such a thing were ever to happen, surely it would be the fault of the musician for playing something unworthy of her.  

He watched her, enraptured.  But he also watched the crowd, scanning for danger.  It was something he could not stop himself from doing.  She was capable of defending herself, but no one was invincible.   

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a familiar face in the crowd and noted the lazy way a hand was passed through her hair.  So far, so good.  Danger may be lurking, but as of yet it was still unseen.  

Good.  

It was possible that they may actually make it through this trip with nothing but happy hearts and glowing memories.  The likelihood of that was slim...but with Eularia by his side, he allowed himself to be hesitantly optimistic

The festivities drew on, the songs changing with his hand steering the direction alongside the dwarf. Nothing could ruin a melody than the inability to keep time and Frank was in no humour to  be thrown off his newly discovered adrenaline rush. Up until he caught the sight of her dancing. Bare feet at first flashed in amongst the grass, dirt and leather, the flash of skin drawing his eyes back while fingers continued on without needing his full attention. While his condition forever forced him to accept there would be things unknown to him, the body of the instrument in his hands was one he could covet blindly, fingers naturally continuing their delicate ministrations.

For a time, he didn’t approach, merely captivated by this free spirit dancing along under his direction, though not entirely. A smirk hitched his lips to one side, mischief and the terrible habit of never letting such a beauty go without compliment taking hold. Meandering towards her was the best course of action, yet Frank felt the stage was not quite set. The music was wrong, for starters. Dark eyes cast to his instrument, his livelihood, deftly weaving the melody into transition, changing from the Marsher tone into something more eclectic, the smooth notes shifting to pluck, and then return to drawing the flirtatious melody.

He didn’t directly approach her once the musicians followed his lead, weaving his wavy around the crowd, encouraging couples or shyer onlookers to dance. Only when drawing such a pair in who neared her space did the man offer her any clear attention, head dipping as his occupied hands played on. [color=#c14700]“You dance well, better than any I’ve seen, my Lady.”[/color] His head tilted to one side, the mask across his face shifting elaborately that the surrounding feathers trembled once settled.

His steps soon came into line with her own and while Frank had currently no hand to offer her, he moved around and in step with her it was uncanny. The grin under the mask broadened at this curious development. Recent months of wandering had only shown him that a great majority of the common folk had two left feet, or stomped when they should glide. [color=#c14700]“How did Arlathan find such a creature eh? Barefoot too, so confident to outmanoeuvre, now aren’t you an intriguing butterfly.”[/color]

Eularia rolled her eyes at Magnus' reply. Have you taken up poetry? I make a damn good muse. The telepathic comment clearly has a flirty undertone to it, and she misstepped as she flirted, recovering quickly, however.

She didn't look his way; wouldn't risk anyone seeing her face and attempting to put two-and-two together. She was smiling, and dancing, and for the first time in a while, she was happy.

The woman fluidly stepped into the new tune, as it changed from something of the Marches to something... achingly familiar. She shifted her body, until she was facing the musicians, searching for the one that had shifted the tune. It'd been the violin—

And then, there was the violinist, speaking to her. Thank you for the compliment, she exclaimed, like always thrilled for positive attention in regards to dance. It'd been her lifeblood before she'd found noble titles and the Game.

The man joined her, and she let her eyes wander over his form, lingering to watch his steps. Familiar. She chalked the familiarness up to the fact this man could play violin and dance at the same time; a feat her husband had perfected. It was a rare feat, not many were able to manage.

But this man...

She hummed her appreciation, I am but a visitor to Arlathan. His question brought her out of her thoughts. The way the stranger very casually likened her to a butterfly made her stomach drop, and she misstepped. Badly enough that she had to pause to wait on the tune, before she could resume her dance.

You must be Antivan to know this dance, she decided that was a safe enough statement. This man... he almost reminded her of her husband, on their nights in the tavern where they pretended they were meeting for the first time.

It was uncanny.

But she was certain her husband would not play games with her; then again, she had not yet figured out just why Francesco had taken off from their agreed-upon safe haven. She worried sometimes that the reason Alfred did not report back is, he may have found the man and learned that Frankie did not want to return home to her.

Absurd, she was sure. But when Magnus wasn't distracting her anxieties, her mind liked to run through every possible scenario.

The tune came to an end, and she dipped into a curtsy. Breathless and completely unnerved by the strange violinist. She'd tell Magnus about it later, though he likely sensed she was uneasy, nervous? She couldn't quite pin the word of how she felt.

As the music changed, Magnus's attention snapped into focus.  The violinist had changed it, had approached her, was dancing with her.  The violinist.  

Magnus spent years studying the man, memorizing his cadence and dissecting each move,  learning to recognize his mannerisms independent of context.  There were differences, of course - things that shouldn't have changed, but had.  Just...not enough differences.  Not enough to prevent the certainty that crashed down around him and shattered the optimism he had just felt.  

With the break in the music, Magnus was able to easily maneuver so he was near enough to hear the exchange without bringing attention to himself.  He had to know if this was the moment he'd been praying would not come.  At least...not yet.  

As afraid as he was, suddenly he could only think of Lara.  His heart ached as he thought about the guilt and relief she must be feeling.  But...she wasn't feeling those things.  He watched her movements, reading the emotions she'd always been an expert at hiding.  He could see that she felt that something was wrong, but the truth hadn't yet become so undeniable that she had to face it.

Why now?  Why couldn't they have had a few more days?  It didn't really matter, but Magnus still mourned the time they could have had.  

It was gone now. Now the only thing he could do was to help Eularia, to be whatever she needed him to be.  

He shifted position, close enough to intervene depending on what happened.  He also steeled himself, reading his magic in case the reactions of reunited lovers were not fit to be shared with the people surrounding them.  

Magnus didn't know what was about to happen, but he did his best to be ready for it.

Frank was blissfully unaware of the goings on around him. His eyes were set on the creature in front of  him, weaving around him in a way that it was as if  nature herself had sprang to compliment his very being. Steps followed steps, as if they had played out this dance countless times before leaving a burning sense of familiarity coursing through him.

[color=#c14700]“As am I. I stumbled my way through one of those odd little doorways,”[/color] he’d chuckle, shoulders shrugging as they continued weaving around each other.

Fingers still danced, drew horsehair strings across smooth notes but his mind was elsewhere, divided between a conflicting series of feelings. What he could distinguish was the undeniable ache stabbing him between the ribs, spiking as she stumbled over her footing. Immediately his hands dropped, collecting the instrument in one hand to lay the freed one against her back.

His posture firmed in concern, masked face tilting to look her over. [color=#c14700]“My dear?” [/color] But the woman’s steps renewed soon enough, his hands hesitating on returning to cradling the wood of his instrument. [color=#c14700]“I am… though I haven’t seen her shores in some time.”[/color] His hand casually hung between them, palm offered for her to take if she wished.

It was stupid, the jealousy she felt as she interacted with this stranger. His eyes followed her, as if he could look nowhere else. Had she truly enthralled yet another man with her dance? From the corner of her eye, she saw Magnus move closer, and frowned.

Only a fleeting frown, because the man had caught her stumble. Stabilizing her; no comment to the misstep. Just like her husband might have done. This felt like... a cruel, cruel joke. Especially as the man mentioned he had not been to Antiva in some time. This time, he offered his hand, and she stared. I'm... Whatever had not clicked previously, was clicking now. You should certainly visit. Her voice felt hollow.

Except she couldn't figure out if he did not know her, or if this was one of his games, made crueller by time. Can I see your face? It was with hesitation that she reached towards his mask, her other hand slipping into the proffered. Is it him? The question resounded in Magnus' mind, as she tried to pull his mask away. She needed a glimpse. She had to reassure herself this was not her husband. Just an unlucky stranger.

Someone was playing games with her, and she wasn't a fan.

Magnus saw Eularia stumble, saw Francesco touch her. 

He could feel the rage stirring inside him - screaming in protest at the cruelty displayed a man who was supposed to have been in love.  That fury was tempered only by his need to be there for Eularia - to support her and comfort her.  

To her, this little guise would be devastating.  How dare he hurt her like this.  

They spoke of their homeland as if it were that. Home. Yet the shores of the glittering city with bustling merchants captured only a portion of what being around her awoke in him. Enraptured he caught the wander of her eye, his own subtly following her line of sight and retreating once noting her companion. Frank’s jaw clenched. Tightness drew across his ribs unbridled until his senses returned.

What the fuck was that? Jealously? Him?

[color=#c14700]“Perhaps, perhaps not. It’s home, but I need reasons to be there.”[/color] Did he? Or was he merely flirting to sait the mischievous side, riling up her possible beau.

Suspicion drew lines across his brow, hidden under the mask and as her hand reached to pull away the shield of his identity, the bard deftly caught her wrist. Practiced hands turned to show the back, drawing to his lips instead for a soft peck, lips lingering ever so slightly before pulling away. [color=#c14700]“I’m afraid it’s part of the act,”[/color] a lie, but a lack of knowing anything and anyone ordered caution. [color=#c14700]“But I can certainly give you my card.” [/color]

Without dropping her hand, Frank slipped them into the inner pocket of his coat, guiding her fingers around a piece of card to take and releasing her. Gaze shifted off into the direction of Magnus but without focusing directly on him. He shouldn’t indulge himself too much, despite the gnawing desire to pull her away and run off into exploring the rest of this place. [color=#c14700]“I’ll take my leave though, but it was… the greatest of pleasures, my Lady.”[/color]

Eularia frowned as the man's jaw tightened, his demeanor shifted... to something jealous? She glanced over her shoulder, towards Magnus, confused. Did that man know Magnus? Before she can ask, he's talking about needing reasons to return home.

Reasons to be there?

Eularia frowned when he caught her wrist, pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. The mask was part of the act? He must mean his instrumental one... A card is slipped into her hand, and she watched the stranger.

Caught how he glanced towards Magnus. She couldn't tell if he was looking at Magnus, of course. But in that direction. Confusion in her eyes, she pulled her hand away, and watched the masked man depart.

The last statement he had made only made her confusion worse, and she frowned down at the card in her hand as she walked back towards Magnus.

It's only when she's reached him, and read anr processed the name, that a quiet, strangled sound left her. Pieces started falling into place.

Wordlessly, she turned to try and find the man again. But it was too late, he'd disappeared and she hadn't paid attention to where. Fingers crumpled the card into her palm, and she buried her face against Magnus' chest.

I want to go home. She didn't want to celebrate anymore. She's not voiced why she's upset, still held the crumpled card in her hand. Take me home. If she felt bad for cutting their trip short, at this time it did not show. She was trying hard not to cry in front of all of these people.

If Magnus had not been so focused on being a steadying force for Eularia, he might have recoiled from the comment's slap.  Francesco needed reasons to be home?  As if Eularia and his children weren't enough.  How dare he.  

It was sadistically cruel.  

Something tickled the back of his mind. This wasn't right.  Francesco Campana was a sonofabitch with an uncontrollable temper and the inability to set aside his own best interest in order to do what was needed of him.  But the coldness required for such sustained cruelty to someone who you were purported to love...

The pieces didn't fit.  

Magnus noted the incongruity, then set the puzzle aside to deal with later.  Right now there was something much, much more important to deal with.  Eularia needed him.  

He wrapped his arms around her, enveloping her in a protective embrace.  The glamour he had readied descended around them, shielding them from the eyes of anyone who happen to be curious.  With that protection, the pair made their way away from the festivities, the crowd parting in front of them without recognizing their passing.  

Later, when the need to whisk her away from the pain and the public eye wasn't dire, Magnus would decide how to best repay Francesco for his malevolence.  Later.